


Converted

by cactustipper



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes, Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: M/M, Rating might go up, ive never finished a chaptered story in my life time to start another one!, jk rating WILL go up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-03-06 23:24:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18861067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cactustipper/pseuds/cactustipper
Summary: Chrom was summoned to Askr three months ago, and has learned to further appreciate a certain someone back home.Finally, it almost looks like things are turning around, until they aren't, and everything Chrom thought he knew is flipped on its head.





	1. Summoned

_Riiip! **Crash!**_

Uh oh.

Chrom let out a frustrated sigh as he set down the training blade on the ground. Only _Sunday_ , and a dummy had already lost its head _and_ a pot was broken. The decapitation always seemed to be inevitable for the Ylissean prince, but the two-for-one was a first. Who even stored things in pots anyways? In the _training field_ , nonetheless?

 _Whatever._ That was the end of practice for him, unless he wanted another soldier to receive the chore of sewing another dummy's head back on, or cleaning up and buying another pot.

"The first this week, eh Chrom?"

He turned in surprise, before calming down to see it was only the summoner exiting the armory that sat on the edge of the field.

"I had thought today's workouts went a little too smoothly for you," Kiran went on a with a chuckle.

Chrom scratched his head self-consciously. "Yeah, sorry about that."

"You get in the zone. I get it," the other man waved a hand. "It's nice to have some things that never change."

Chrom gave a small nod, not quite letting it go yet. It wasn't that big of a deal, but guilt still churned his stomach uncomfortably. Every mistake he had made as of late, even the smallest of everyday occurrences, had left him lamenting and frustrated, as if he was the most hopeless idiot on Earth.

Perhaps he didn't feel as if he contributed enough to the Order of Heroes, and felt as if he were only a burden. But that wasn't it, he knew if wasn't it.

When the prince didn't respond, Kiran dropped his smile and tilted his head to the side. "Chrom? Everything alright?"

"Huh? Oh—yes, I'm fine. I just feel sorry for whoever has to clean up after me this time," he said, forcing a light tone.

 _"Chrom,"_ Kiran said, his face twisting in concern. His own tactician would have reacted the same way when the prince was trying to brush him off.

The summoner didn't have to say anymore for Chrom to understand what Kiran was getting at.

And yeah, the prince missed _him_. A _lot_.

 

 

"How's the arm, Chrom? Looked like it got pretty banged up from the battle earlier."

He gave a thumbs up to Marth, too melancholy to supply a proper response. The prince often wondered if he deserved to be called a hero alongside legends such as his ancestor. He had hardly even _done_ anything. The thought only made Chrom feel lonelier than he already was; if anyone deserved to be here and called a _hero_ , it was Robin.

Rolling the shoulder of his sore arm, Chrom began to walk through the castle's main hall, but was stopped by Lissa before reaching the halls leading to the soldiers' quarters. At least, a _version_ of his sister—but not the same Lissa from his world.

"Hey Chrom," she said, reaching out and ruffling his hair. This version of Lissa was older than him and had lost both him _and_ Emm in her timeline; he didn't have the heart to duck away from her hand. "Are you coming to the summoning? I think Kiran said it'd be pretty late tonight."

He shook his head, inwardly kicking himself at not seeking his sister out more often. Who was he skulking around when there were Shepherds (albeit from different worlds) all around him? Deep down Chrom knew Robin wasn't just any other Shepherd to him and that it was different, but being able to admit and explain that was a whole other demon.

Lissa gave a sympathetic smile. "That's okay. I'll let you know if anyone shows up."

Chrom muttered his thanks, then continued past her, ready to collapse in his bed for the night.

 

 

"Robin, I'm… in love with you."

_Knock knock knock knock knock kno—_

That was where the dream ended.

Never one to wake up early, it took the prince a moment to get to his feet and stumble to the door. Clearly, whoever was knocking couldn't wait one _damn_ second.

"—Sorry, I knew you'd be sleeping, but I wanted to talk to you as soon as possible," Kiran said right as the door was open. He fiddled with his hands, his hair disheveled, with slight bags hanging beneath his eyes. "Can I come in?"

Chrom nodded, gesturing vaguely into his quarters. Kiran slipped by, and then he shut the door behind him.

He barely gave Chrom a chance to wake up before speaking about what was on his mind. "You know there was a summoning last night—this morning—whatever, right?"

"Mm," Chrom hummed, rubbing at one of his eyes.

"Well, there was…" the summoner tried, before trailing off and biting his lip. "I summoned… I'm not sure who. Or, or _what."_

The prince blinked, becoming more conscious as intrigue replaced his drowsiness. "What?"

"It—he, was… _Robin—"_

Chrom's body snapped up in an instant, ready to bolt. "What? Where is he?"

"Wait, Chrom, I don't think it's who you're—"

"Never mind, he's in one of the new recruit rooms isn't he? I'll just go find him myself."

He moved to reach for the door, but Kiran seized one of his wrists. He tried to wriggle his hand away, but the summoner didn't budge.

"Chrom, he's not… he's Robin, but he's _not,"_  Kiran insisted, struggling for the proper words. "I don't know who he is—he _looks_ like Robin, but he _isn't."_

The prince paused, setting an intense gaze on the other man. "You don't want me to see him."

Kiran held his grip. "Chrom, I understand where you're coming from. Really, I do. But I don't think it would be good for you to see him before…"

"Before _what?"_ Chrom demanded, ignoring the summoner's attempted sympathy.

"…Before we know if he's dangerous."

The prince's expression grew hard. "Of course he isn't dangerous," he said, his tone edging on offense. "Why would he be summoned here if he was?"

"This Robin's power must be needed here. But Chrom…" Kiran shook his head. "This can't be good for you."

_"You want to keep me from the one person who matters **most** to me?"_

The confession surprised the both of them, but Chrom didn't let his own shock linger. It was the truth, and damn everything if Kiran thought he could keep the prince away from Robin. No matter _which_ Robin it was.

The summoner kept his stare on him for a moment, before recovering and finally dropping Chrom's hand, a firm frown etched in his features. "…I suppose I can't deny you that, but brace yourself, please. He isn't who you think he is."

The prince didn't wait another heartbeat before he was sprinting out of his quarters, down the hall, and through the castle until he reached the set of rooms reserved for newcomers to Askr. Each door was open with an unoccupied space beyond it, save for one at the end of the hall.

Taking a deep breath, Chrom attempted to prepare himself, trying to stay mindful of Kiran's warning. _It could be anyone in there,_ he thought, but giddiness still bubbled within him regardless. Robin was here! He wouldn't have to be without him anymore!

Upon arriving at the other side of the hall, he raised his hand, rapping lightly on the door with his knuckles.

"Robin? I-it's me. Chrom." He couldn't keep the quaver out of his voice as a shiver ran through him. "May I come in?"

He heard the creak of the bed as something moved off of it, followed by muted shuffling. His heart pounded with anticipation as the knob jiggled, before the door slowly opened, inch by inch.

Finally in view, a Robin stood there. His eyes were sunken in and his hair was much more unruly than Chrom was used to. He looked as if he hadn't slept for days with how mentally absent he seemed. The only positive part of this Robin's appearance was that he was more muscular than his Robin, but only as muscular as a thin physique like his could get.

"Exalt," the tactician deadpanned, looking up at the prince with disinterest. His ruddy brown eyes focused on Chrom's face, and he remembered that his Robin's eyes were more of a neutral brown. "It has been some time." Chrom hadn't been entirely sure what to expect before arriving, but he hadn't imagined Robin could be so… _unsettling_. Where did this Robin _come_ from?

"Oh, uh, in my world, I haven't been crowned exalt yet," he replied with a cough, any words of welcome or joy forgotten with what Chrom now faced.

"Mm… How is your dear elder sister, then?" His voice was in its lower octave, something much deeper than usual, and it was more haunting than Chrom could have ever dreamed of Robin using.

"She's p-passed away." Anxiety began to rise within him. Why were they even talking about this? Was this Robin not happy to see him? And if that were the case, what _happened_ —to the _both_ of them?

Robin clicked his tongue. "It is a shame Naga's children must suffer so much loss."

Before the prince could interpret these words, Robin started to turn away. _"Wait,"_ Chrom said, and out of habit, grabbed the tactician's shoulder. Robin's eyes jolted up to his, now a piercing crimson burning within them. He gasped and snatched back his hand, stunned by the sight. _"What in gods' names…?"_

"It will serve you well to forget what you think you know about me, _prince,"_ he growled lowly, this time clutching the door and slamming it in Chrom's face.

"Hold on!" he called as he heard the lock on the other side. "Robin? _Robin!_ What's going on?"

There was no answer, and Chrom continued to stand there in silence, his palm flat against the door while his heart thundered in his chest.

_"Robin…?"_

He nearly snapped his neck when turning it once he heard footsteps approaching behind him. Chrom settled down only slightly upon seeing Kiran, a grimace on the other man's features.

 _"What's going on?"_  Chrom demanded once again, his body shuddering with complicated emotion.

"I don't know," the summoner said, tilting his head to the side. "I know less than you. He wouldn't talk to me."

The prince wanted to refuse to take that as an answer, but no words came to him. He only felt as if his chest were a hollow chamber, as if his heart had been released from a cage, but only to be greeted by a larger, emptier cell. Chrom stayed silent, dropping his head against the door, shoulders curling in defeat.

"I'm sorry, Chrom."

He didn't respond to Kiran's hand on his back, unable to process what was happening, and why. This Robin… what hell had he been through?

 

 

Chrom lost track of time. He wasn't sure when Kiran had left, nor how long he had been standing there, but awareness returned to him only when the doorknob twisted. He jumped back, unprepared to speak to _this_ Robin again so soon. The prince couldn't breathe as the door opened, the tactician wearing the same unamused look from before. His irises appeared to be back to normal.

"Have you been here this entire time?" Robin asked, his brows knitting together. His demeanor was entirely different from where their previous conversation—if one could call it that—had left off.

"Yes," Chrom answered, his thoughts too scattered to reply with anything but automatic honesty.

"Hmph. Your devotion to him always was a curiosity," Robin muttered, narrowing his eyes. "…Fine. You may enter this once, only if you return with sustenance." He shut the door again, but instead of dread, Chrom was left with bafflement.

"…You mean food?"

Just as before, there was no answer. Chrom blinked, figuring it was worth a try.

 

 

The prince came back around twenty minutes later with a tray of breakfast foods for the both of them, as Chrom hadn't eaten yet that morning.

"Robin?" he called through the door. "I'm back, and I have food—er, sustenance."

The lock clicked. "Enter."

Balancing the tray with one hand, Chrom turned the knob and walked into the room, closing the door behind him. Everything inside was untouched, save for an indent in the bed's comforter, despite it still being made with its blankets neatly tucked in. He set the platter down on the desk against the wall, watching Robin curiously as he moved to sit in the chair next to it.

"I should think you know it is bad manners to stand over someone while they eat, prince," Robin said distastefully, glancing up at him.

"Oh, uh—sorry. Should I…?"

"Bring a place to be seated here." He returned his gaze to the food in front of him.

Chrom scooted a reading chair next to the desk, then sat down beside Robin. He took one of the napkins he had brought and was about to reach for a plate of eggs, but hesitated. He wasn't quite sure of how to tread around the tactician. "May I?"

Robin eyed him. "…If you must."

The prince gave a gracious nod before taking the plate of eggs, then cutting them with a fork and knife. He raised a bite to his mouth, immediately feeling better once he swallowed. It somewhat filled that empty feeling. Meanwhile, Robin was working on a bowl of strawberries, cantaloupe, and pineapple, while picking at a piece of toast.

"Tell me, bearer of the Brand," Robin eventually said, peeling the crust from the edges of his toast. "Do you know who I am?"

"Based on that, I'm assuming you're not… Robin. However, I have nothing else to call you."

"And you said you have not yet been promoted to exalt in your time?"

"Yes." _What is he getting at?_

"Interesting," the other man hummed, taking a sip from one of the cups of orange juice. "Have you confessed to your mate yet?"

Chrom spluttered, nearly choking on his eggs. _"—W-what?"_

"I take that as a 'no,'" Robin chuckled, his lips curling deviously. "You have no secrets from me, son of Naga."

The prince blinked, thumbing his bare ring finger self-consciously. "So you know…?"

"Indeed. I will let you in on something: you and Robin will become mates. How you do not recognize your obvious attraction for one another, I do not know, but I _will_ say it is sickening how infatuated you are with each other." He bit a strawberry, flicking the leafy top back into the bowl. "I might add that I hold some admiration for your devotion to him. _Foolish_ —but admirable."

It took Chrom a moment to get past that Robin didn't eat the leaves of the strawberry. He reddened upon hearing the tactician's words, his heartrate rising as he was unable to help the grin that spread across his face. _Robin loves me back…?_

"Wait." The prince put a stop to his thoughts, backtracking. Did this Robin _not_ love him anymore, whereas he once had? He wasn't visibly wearing a ring, after all. "What happened in your time? Why are you…"

"Not your mate?" he suggested.

"…Maybe not the term _I'd_ use."

The ghost of a smile rose to his lips. "Very well. In my timeline, I killed you, prince."

Chrom dropped his glass. It shattered upon reaching the ground, orange juice splattering and then seeping into the floor boards. Robin didn't seem impressed by this, but didn't make a move to clean it up.

 _"…What?"_ Chrom forced out, ignoring his destroyed beverage.

"I never had the chance to revel in your death, but I do appreciate the attempt at recreating the feeling."

 _"No…"_ Chrom couldn't believe his ears. _You_ wanted _to me to die?_ "There's a mistake, your timeline must be… off. You said you're not Robin, right?" he scrambled for answers, anything to excuse himself from such a fate back in his own world. It _couldn't_ be true. "Who _are_ you?"

"The amount of sorrow Robin suffered from was pitiful, really," the other man went on, casually, "I expected it to be more challenging to devour him, with how much prowess he displayed, but alas."

His lack of answer only served to infuriate the prince. He shot up from his seat, reaching forward and clawing into the stranger's shirt, pulling him up and practically over the table. Chrom held his face inches from his own, and the other man tightened his jaw, that angry red from before taking over his irises.

 _ **"Who are you?"**_ the prince ground his teeth as anger boiled in his veins, insulted that this imposter ever _**dare**_ harm Robin— _any_ Robin, for that matter.

"The fell dragon your ancestors insisted on _sealing_ one thousand years ago," he spat, curling his lip and revealing a flash of fangs. "Tell me, how do you suppose expelling your anger on me will help your _cause?_ Or Askr's excuse for a _militia?"_

 _"Grima…"_ he said under his breath. Chrom's grip unintentionally loosened, but he fought to keep from being distracted by such a strange circumstance. He refocused his rage, determined on getting back to what was most important.  _"Where's Robin?"_

The other man's eyes narrowed. "I told you, exalted blood. He died with you and the rest of your miserable race."

Chrom shoved Grima away, his body landing face-first with a loud thump against the floor. He couldn't process what was happening, only that he was fighting to keep hot tears from flooding his eyes. His Robin back home couldn't go the same way. The dragon turned onto his back as he wiped the blood off his face, and suddenly, Chrom was seeing his own Robin waking up, all alone in that field without a single soul to miss him. He had to look away.

"I have always been one with him. His fate was inevitable; he was born with my heart," Grima said slowly, rising to his feet.

Chrom gazed silently back it him, searching for some sign of emotion in his eyes. They appeared to be… remorseful? Sympathetic? Whatever they revealed, it was a sober expression. And all Chrom knew was that he didn't want this disgusting creature's pity.

"…He wasn't born as _you_ ," Chrom responded. "He was born as _himself."_

The prince turned on his heel and marched out of the room, not bothering with the rest of his breakfast he had left behind. His appetite was spoiled.


	2. Protected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for suicide mention. nothing too graphic, not focused, just briefly mentioned in a conversation.

“Morning, Chrom.”

“It’s one in the afternoon.”

Lissa made a pouting face, the same one his world's princess made as a teenager. It seemed this older one’s habit of sleeping-in wasn't lost with time, either.

“Put your arm straight out.”

Chrom sat on the edge of his bed, holding his right arm in the air. His sister stood in front of him, checking the limb that he had injured in the battle the previous day. It couldn’t have gotten roughed up _too_ bad if he felt fine. Maybe a bit sore, but he doubted it was noticeable to anyone outside of himself. Only Marth would have known, since the Hero-King was the only one to see him get hit.

“Now make a fist for me.”

He curled his fingers, beginning to feel strain in his forearm. She ran her hand gently along his tendons, then waved the end of her staff across his arm. He exhaled, feeling the relief instantly.

“You doin’ okay?” she asked, glancing at him casually. “Usually you'd be whining or something.”

Chrom blinked at her curiously. Did she really not know what was bothering him? “I thought you were at the summoning last night?”

“Not the whole thing. Kiran was out pretty late; I was pooped by about two and went to bed.”

“Oh.” _So she doesn’t know Grima is here…_ “Well—can I ask you something?”

Lissa tilted her head slightly, quirking an eyebrow. He was acting a tad strangely, he could admit it; she was probably trying to figure him out. _“Okay…?”_

“I don’t mean to pry because I imagine it isn’t the most pleasant thing to think about…”

Her upper eyelids drooped in mild annoyance. “Chrom. It’s _fine.”_

The prince laughed nervously. “A-alright. Um…” He scratched at his neck. “What did… What happened to Robin in… your world?”

She immediately frowned. “He isn’t around anymore. Why?”

“How did he…?”

“If you’re trying to figure out the future for you own timeline—”

Chrom shook his head. “I’m not, it’s something else.”

She gave him a funny look. “Okay, then why don’t you just ask?”

“I know Robin was important to you, too, so I’m just trying to figure out if…” He bit the inside of his cheek. “Something… really _bad_ happened, right?”

Lissa’s playful exterior cracked at that, and she flinched away from him. After a few moments, she turned toward him again, her expression sober. “…He was never the same after your—er, my brother’s death,” she said, feeling his arm once again.

“Then…?”

“He found a piece of himself, and… it was too much for him. He… he took his own life.”

Chrom gazed down at his hands, which sat clasped between his legs, processing this revelation. It didn’t particularly uproot him, but what had Chrom’s death _done_ to Robin? _What else could that ‘piece’ have been besides learning he had Grima’s heart?_ he asked himself. _I would’ve been gone, and Lissa can’t wield Falchion. If Grima was to be revived, he must’ve felt he had no other choice; it’d take a lot to drive him to something like that—at least, I’d hope. He always tries to find another way._

The prince looked back up at his sister, who watched him anxiously, waiting for his response.

“…It was Grima, wasn’t it?”

Her eyes went wide. “How did you…?”

He grimaced. “He’s here, Lissa. He was summoned.”

“N-no… that… that can’t…” The princess—exalt?—backed away from him, her head shaking profusely while her arms reached out behind her for something to steady her. Chrom rose from his spot on the edge of the bed and went to her, before her back hit the wall, wrapping his arms around his sister.

_“Why?_ Why would he show up here?” she whispered shakily into his shoulder, and Chrom pressed his cheek against her hair.

“I don’t know.”

“He took _you_ and _Emm_ and _Robin_ away,” she hiccuped, choking on a sob, “a-and so many others.”

The prince rubbed a hand around her back, slow and soothing. “There has to be a reason. We have to believe the gods here wouldn’t betray us.”

“Is that what Robin’s doomed to regardless of what world it is?” she went on. Her body shook with emotion as she spat out her question, “Death, or turning into _him?”_

Chrom held the same doubts himself, but he _had_ to believe otherwise. He knew life could be cruel, but it could be gracious, too… _right? But then why isn’t Robin here?_ he thought.

_Why is it Grima instead?_

“I need to talk to you.”

Chrom followed the summoner into his quarters, checking the hallway before closing the door behind him. Kiran leaned against his bed frame, an eyebrow raised questioningly. The prince took a deep breath.

“You need to send Grima back.”

“Grima?” Kiran asked.

“That _Robin_ —in my world, he’s a deity of ruin and misery,” Chrom explained. “You said it yourself; we don’t know how dangerous he really is here.”

The other man’s lips thinned. “About that. I’ve reconsidered his place here, and have come to the conclusion he was summoned here for a reason. I can’t put all of Askr at risk because of a personal preference.”

“It’s not a _preference_ , though,” he argued, unable to believe Kiran had made an excuse so weak. It was nearly insulting. “He isn’t a hero in _any form_. He’s taken _countless_ of innocent lives. If anything, it’s more of a risk that he’s _here!”_

“Breidablik disagrees.” The summoner crossed his arms. “If Robin—Grima—was brought here, then it’s because there’s _something_ redeeming within him, and his power is needed here. He wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

Chrom gritted his teeth. Grima had taken Robin away from him, even if it wasn’t in his home timeline— _yet_. He was obviously a ticking time hex; there shouldn’t have been anything to debate here! The prince opened his mouth to retort, but Kiran spoke first.

“There’s something that lies beneath the surface… it’s upset. Lonely. It leads me to believe that he could have changed, Chrom. Why don’t you give him even one chance?”

_He’s a complete stranger, milord. Why do you put yourself at such risk? All it takes is even one chance._ Frederick’s words echoed in his ears. His dear friend and guardian had said them after Chrom had taken Robin in, which had turned out to be the best thing that had ever happened to him.

_That isn’t fair. It was entirely different,_ his mind insisted. But _was_ it?

“You don’t have to be best friends with him,” Kiran went on when Chrom didn’t reply, “but just coexist. If you’d like, I can do my best to keep you apart in chores, training, and battle.”

The prince hesitated, and he couldn’t understand why. He should’ve agreed eagerly, but something within held him back. It wasn’t Robin they were talking about. It _wasn’t_. Chrom had come to get rid of that demon for his sister’s sake, but he found himself so easily persuaded by the possibility that Grima might not be totally… _Grima_. Was it selfish to find his curiosity piqued, when Lissa needed his support?

Before he could figure out the answer to his thoughts, his lips moved to their own accord. “No… it’s alright.”

Kiran looked pleasantly surprised, and Chrom wanted to kick himself. “I’m glad to hear it. I know it isn’t easy, but that’s what life’s for, right?”

The prince only nodded numbly, feeling his feet turning to leave. Once he reached the knob, the summoner added, “And who knows? You might find the reason he’s here—and something better than you expect. Keep your chin up, alright?”

Chrom didn’t say anymore as he shut the door behind him.

Chrom ducked and rolled to the side, as a group of arrows whirred past he and Ishtar. He didn’t have a chance to ask if she was hurt before Kiran was giving orders to move forward to counterattack. Chrom headed for a group of manaketes, and drove through their line effortlessly. The prince was just sending the final dragon aside, when at the last second, he noticed the thunder mage lying in wait in the forest. _Uh-oh._

Kiran tried to call out in warning, but there was no time. Chrom shut his eyes and brought Falchion in front of him, bracing for the electricity to shake his entire being.

But the impact never came.

The prince creaked an eye open to black and purple. His eyes followed the purple line up to a gold collar and a shock of white hair. Grima stood in front of him, absorbing the spell and countering with an attack of his own. Chrom could only gape with his mouth wide open.

Grima tossed his head over his shoulder, and it took the prince a moment to realize the dragon was addressing him.

“Are you just going to stand there, exalt?” Grima barked, clenching his teeth in strain. “Make yourself of _some_ use and deter that sword knight!”

Chrom still hesitated a heartbeat, before his head came back to him. He sprang back into action as a heavily armored soldier raised his sword to Grima’s left. The prince caught the weapon with his own just in time before the slash could get to Grima. With all his might, he pushed Falchion forward against the attacker’s sword, flinging it to the ground. He raised his blade to the knight’s chest, but granted him mercy and allowed the soldier to retreat.

He spun on his heel, ready for the next fight, but the battlefield was clearing up. The Askran soldiers were advancing after the retreating enemies, before regrouping back together once the summoner called for them.

Healers wove amongst the soldiers, helping those who were worse off, before tending to the more minor injuries. Chrom caught Lissa’s face within the crowd, and she seemed to look back, but upon examination, the prince realized she was looking past him. He followed her line of vision beyond him, and saw Grima leaning heavily on two soldiers just before disappearing into one of the makeshift healing tents. Chrom didn’t know he had been hurt _that_ badly; was it from the dragon having shielded him?

The prince went to the tent, but was stopped by one of the soldiers who had helped Grima get there, Niles.

“Sorry. Can’t let you in, pretty boy,” the archer said, shaking his head. “He’s not doing too hot.”

“Will he be alright?” Chrom asked.

“Think he’ll live.”

Something within the Ylissean royal felt relief at that, he was surprised to admit. There was also some curiosity as to if Grima had intentionally blocked that attack from Chrom; was it _instinct_ , and if so, his instincts regarding  _Chrom_ , or his instincts regarding _any_ soldier?  _Would those instincts to protect even be Grima’s? Or_ Robin’s?

He turned around, seeking Lissa out with his eyes. She immediately met them, looking concerned and mouthing, ‘Do you need me?’ Chrom shook his head in response, not sure what she could do for him.

Her, or anyone else.


	3. Confronted

Chrom sat on the edge of his bed, polishing Falchion while he waited for any sort of news on Grima’s condition. The sword already reflected his face as clearly as a mirror, but the prince had nothing else to distract him. He _really_ didn’t need to be left alone with his thoughts at the moment.

Rain was beginning to drizzle down outside the window. It made Chrom aware of just how long he had been in the same spot. He was there since the army had returned to the castle earlier that afternoon; it was evening now, around eight o’clock if he had to guess.

The prince set his weapon aside and stood up, stretching his legs to get the blood circulating in his limbs again. He disrobed and went into his personal bathroom to take a quick shower, as he had put it off earlier, wanting to see Grima as soon as possible. Time had been stretching on since then, and Chrom felt gross with his sweat dried to his skin from the battle.

When he finished bathing, the rain was pouring steadily outside. While combing his hair, he heard a loud roll of thunder. And what did that noise remind him of?  Once Chrom finished drying off and getting into a fresh set of clothes, there was a knock on his door. He slipped on some socks before going to answer it.

The prince opened the door to his sister, who slouched slightly, with her eyes drooping. She looked _exhausted_.

“You can go see him,” she said.

He nodded wordlessly to her, and began to move past her. He wasn’t far down the hall when he heard Lissa padding after him. Chrom turned to her and put a hand on her shoulder.

“You need to rest.”

“But I need to—ahhh—check your arm again,” The princess covered her mouth as she yawned, and another clap of thunder sounded.

“I’ll be fine,” he assured her, then pulled her into a quick hug. After releasing, he said, “Sleep well, alright?”

He was surprised that she didn’t argue; she must have been truly on her last leg not to insist upon seeing his arm.

The siblings parted, and Chrom continued on his path to the infirmary. Healers were just swapping shifts once he arrived, and he made sure to move aside for the ones nearly falling asleep where they were standing, not unlike his sister’s behavior. He weaved his way through the small lobby to a volunteer—Lilina, if he recalled correctly—holding a cup of tea and a clipboard.

“Do you know where Robin—Grima is staying?” he asked.

“He’s the second door on the left,” she said, gesturing to the hallway on the opposite side of the room.

Chrom gave a nod. “Thanks.”

Upon reaching the door of Grima’s assigned room, he raised a loose fist to the wood to knock, but hesitated before rapping his knuckles. Should he be doing this? How would Grima react to seeing him?

He stood there for a minute or so while his mind attempted to map out what might come of this visit, but his thoughts were cut short when he heard Grima from inside.

“I am fully aware of your presence, prince.”

It slightly embarrassed Chrom, but he shook the feeling off as he opened and closed the door behind him upon entering the room. Grima lay in a clean, pure white bed, with a blanket folded just below his waist. His hair was messier than usual, and his eyes seemed dull, lacking any sort of focus. He wore a gown open in the front, showing a multitude of bandages wrapped around his midsection, and a dark, crimson spot stained the middle of them. Various bruises and cuts of all sorts of colors and sizes dotted what was visible of his arms and torso.

_“Gods…”_ Chrom exhaled, taking in the sight of Grima’s body. “Was that all from _today?”_

There was another clap of thunder as the dragon blinked, slightly turning his head to the Ylissean man. “I loathe admitting it, but I overestimated myself. It seems I lost more ability than I once thought due to being summoned here.”

“Oh.” Chrom didn’t understand entirely what he meant, but didn’t want to pester Grima by asking.

“Is that all you have come for? If so, you are invited to leave.” The dragon attempted to roll onto his side to face away from Chrom, but made a small grunt of pain as he tried, then flopped once more on his back in defeat.

The prince didn’t reply, but instead pulled over a chair to the side of the Grima’s bed and settled down.

“Have you gone deaf within the last minute?” Grima growled, but there was no real bite in his words. His eyes remained brown and dim. Chrom only gazed back, and the dragon lightly scowled. “Do not pity me, man spawn.”

“Who said I was pitying you?”

Grima snorted. “I know how you are. You are more emotional than the average human—or at least, you _portray_ yours more.”

The prince didn’t immediately respond, and the two drifted into a moment of silence. Chrom remained with his eyes on Grima, watching him, and the dragon, seeing that the other man wasn’t to say anything to that, lost interest and settled into his pillow, letting his eyes slip shut.

Chrom stayed quiet for a few minutes, watching Grima’s chest rise and fall, slowing in its rhythm as he dozed off. The sound of rain in the background blended into the scene in front of him, going unnoticed and slightly lulling Chrom into a trance.

_He must not always be on edge then if he’s letting his guard down,_ the prince thought, _unless it’s because he’s injured. I wonder how he was with the healers whenever he was conscious._

Chrom suddenly had the urge to take Grima’s hand, but resisted, somewhat taken aback by his own impulse. _He isn’t Robin. He_ _**isn’t**_. Somewhere deep down, however, said otherwise, and the idea was anything but welcome. _Get ahold of yourself. You really think_ that’s _anything other than a monster?_

_A monster that saved you,_ that something deep down replied back. _This isn’t the Grima from the legends. It’s someone else; a real being._

Chrom tried to push the thought away, unwilling to accept it. He was typically inclined to forgive and grant second, even third chances, but there was a block in his mind that wouldn’t allow it, no matter how his heart fought in response. He wanted to see the love of his life within the dragon, but morally, such a thought was despicable. To let bygones be bygones with a being set on apocalyptic destruction?

“Why did you protect me?”

Grima’s eyelids were open in an instant, his pupils slitted like a cat’s. Chrom was caught just as off guard by his own question as the dragon, but his pupils dilated to normal spheres upon seeing only the prince.

“When I blocked that mage’s attack?”

The prince nodded.

“Hmph. It was only what was most advantageous for our army; you would have been an unnecessary casualty.”

Chrom furrowed his brow. “And why do _you_ care about Askr?”

Grima snorted. “I do not. I am merely intrigued by that summoner’s power, and without my usual abilities, cooperation is my best chance at returning to my world.”

“If you were truly that indifferent, then why risk your life for me?” he insisted. “You killed me in your past, why have any regard for my life now?”

The dragon narrowed his eyes at the implication. Warning was apparent in his tone when he said, “There _was_ no risk; as stated, your death would yield no positive result.”

Chrom wasn’t convinced. “If there was no risk, then why are you here in the infirmary?”

“A miscalculation,” Grima spat. “You really _are_ deaf, are you not? Perhaps I was mistaken to think you learned _nothing_ from the late exalt.”

The prince felt a sharp pang in his chest; it was less than a year ago that Emmeryn had passed, and his grief was still fresh and raw. It was a cruel comment, and it especially hurt coming through _that_ voice. He turned his head away, not wanting to meet Grima’s eyes in the moment. The dragon didn’t say anymore, and the air was only made heavier by the silence.

_Why even bother with him? Is any of this worth it?_ Chrom asked himself. Anyone with half a brain would have known an insult like that would hit a sore spot; Robin would be the _last_ one to try and hurt him. How could there be _any_ Robin in there at _all?_

The prince slightly shook his head at himself. _No, if our positions were reversed, Robin wouldn’t give up on me so easily—but he’d also be much more logical about it and more realistic._ _Would he still love me if I were like this?_ He paused at the thought. _Am I wrong to cast off the possibility there’s more to Grima than meets the eye?_

After a minute or two of listening to the noises of the thunderstorm, Chrom somewhat regained himself. He had to get to the bottom of this.

“Say what you might,” he began unsteadily, “but I believe it was your intent to protect me, regardless of the aftermath. Whether or not you were doing it for _me_ or if you would do it for _anyone_ , I don’t know.” He opened his eyes, staring hard at Grima. “But I _do_ know what instincts look like.”

The dragon didn’t appear to be angered further, but he held Chrom’s gaze and replied softly, in a fake-innocent tone, “Tell me then, was it _instinctual_ for your mate to end your life without a drop of my influence?”

Chrom hesitated, his chest beginning to burn. “I don’t…”

“Because I remember,” Grima continued, curling his lip in a sneer, “how he did not even waste a single heartbeat.”

He _hated_ how he took the bait. It required everything within Chrom to resist planting his knuckles into the dragon’s jaw, but somehow, he just barely managed it before launching his fist that was already reeled back. Grima hadn’t even flinched, but instead watched with a straight face, his expression unreadable.

The prince slowly lowered his hand, taking a deep breath in attempt to control the fury in his veins that made his body tremble, and he itched to act on his impulses. He couldn’t bare staying in this room one more moment with this _bastard_ , or he’d surely do something he’d regret. He didn’t like conceding defeat, but it was his only option.

Chrom rose from his seat and went for the door, promptly exiting Grima’s room in the infirmary. What he missed was the solemn frown on the dragon’s face behind him as he left.

The prince shut his bedroom door behind him, before sinking to the ground onto his rear, bending his legs against his chest and ducking his head into them, resting his crossed arms on the tops of his knees.

He couldn’t understand what angle Grima was coming from. Why tell Chrom _anything_ about Robin loving him, to turn around and harm the prince in any way possible? Was Grima having risked his life for Chrom really just a calculated move for his own personal gain? Enough of it sounded like the truth for the Ylissean royal to believe the rest of it, but why _wouldn’t_ Grima lie to him? Was it really all just an elaborate ploy to torture Chrom as much as possible? 

And why did Chrom care if Grima really _did_ hate him? Had he gotten so desperate that any Robin was good enough for him? What about the good of his sister? Wasn’t this going against his vow to protect her by sticking his nose in the dragon’s business? Why did he have to be so _weak?_

He groaned, tilting his head back, and knocking the crown of it against the door. He stared at the ceiling, his thoughts too jumbled to come to any meaningful conclusion.

All he knew was that his heart ached to be with Robin, _his_ Robin. The thunder outside the castle didn’t help the feeling either. It only reminded him of the magic used by the person he missed. And he swore that even if it meant never going home, he’d be more than happy just to be at his tactician’s side.

But now, Chrom felt further away than ever from him.


End file.
